


calmly disdains to destroy us (Beauty/Terror)

by Filigranka



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: (I mean nominally there's porn but it's my id so it doesn't feel like a focus enough?), Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Blood and Gore, Cruelty, Dark, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, F/M, Gallows Humor, Genital Damage, Genital Torture (non-sexual), Kylo Ren is Not Nice, Leia gets hurt a lot, Licking, M/M, Mind Games, PWP, PWP without Porn, Painful Sex, Rape, Realism? What Realism?, Rimming, Torture, Torture Healing/Literal Healing Sex At Once :D, Torture Porn. torture PWP even, Vaginal Fingering, euphemism of the millennium. he's terrible. hux too
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-16
Updated: 2019-09-16
Packaged: 2020-10-20 03:20:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20668445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Filigranka/pseuds/Filigranka
Summary: Kylo tortures his mother. Hux likes to watch. Sometimes, he even gets to eat the scraps.Torture porn. Iddy. Plotless. Dark.(a good 95% of the fic is Leia/Hux, but kylux has a few throwaway, non-con mentions. if that's a dealbreaker, you're warned ;))





	calmly disdains to destroy us (Beauty/Terror)

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by [Filigranka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Filigranka/pseuds/Filigranka) in the [iibb2019](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/iibb2019) collection. 

> **Prompt:**   
_Every ship in this fandom deserves the good old "stranded together in a desert planet" fic and I deserve the one for my OTP. All sweet and fluffy, for my standards, unless I decide to do something with this, later. :D Self, when you finish this, there will nothing stopping you from writing a lot of short, plotless torture porn, let's us be nice to ourselves and the characters, once, OK? And remember to throw Lando there. No, I don't care how._
> 
> I haven't managed to finish that "stranded together in a desert" fic (sorry, myself) - but it has a good 30k words, now - but short plotless torture porn? Sure I did. When it comes to writing Leia/Hux and dark fics, I'm very resourceful. Full list of all warnings I could think of - in the end notes. The kylux here is only mentioned, a few lines about Ren forcing him, but. I thought I should tag it as a warning for those who can't stand it being treated as untagged default/ease of filtering out.
> 
> Well, it's plotless torture porn. It's dark. Perhaps very dark, my and English fandom's scales seem to be at odds and I'm never sure if I get the darkness-level right. ;) I guess the safe assumption with me is that things are darker than one expects.
> 
> Title's from/inspired by Rilke. I've realised that First Elegy works as a poetry-mix !for SW (perhaps its tech better than for the Force, even) and even Kylo Ren very nicely. Or perhaps it's just that everyone sees their fav (older) childhood poetry in everything.
> 
> Author's ramblings and regrets, and apologies - in end notes also.

Hux wonders if the familial bond makes mind-probing easier or more difficult. The act itself feels like a violation, he knows from experience, and the casual wisdom and statistics say hurting the close ones is harder. On the other hand, the familiarity might make the connection easier… More like hand-picking the lock than breaking the door.

Whatever it is on the perpetrator side, the way Leia Organa trashes in her bounds and screams her throat raw proves it doesn’t make any special difference for a victim.

It is so—just makes Hux’s mouth dry.

“More difficult” hypothesis wins in the initial research, he thinks dryly to draw his attention away from this damn tightness of his trousers. Nothing conclusive. After all, the difficulties Ren’s having might be the result of Leia’s being Vader’s daughter, not the mere grandson. Following, more in-depth studies are advised.

Hux has no doubts there’ll be some, if only because Ren—torn between gloating about following Vader’s path and almost begging her to tell him, not to force him to hurt her, doesn’t she realise he’s making her dream galaxy come true, doesn’t she realise he’s right—hasn’t got the information he needed.

In the middle of the interrogation, admitting defeat, he used droids to weaken Leia’s defences via physical pain. It didn’t work, so Ren destroyed all of them, and Hux would be pretty irritated, if not for the pleasure of watching the live stream of the hours-long torture show. Seeing Ren put down a peg is fantastic, if ideologically suspicious, bonus.

Core’s planets tend to look best blown up into pieces and Core’s princesses and princes—like now, with the blood coming down their mouths and chins, their brows sweaty and their eyes bloodshot. Hux wouldn’t mind if Ren, shivering like in high fever, obviously exhausted, fell to his knees, but one can’t have everything.

Finally, Ren caresses his mother face, smooths some loose strands of her hair. He looks like he might cry. ‘It’s not over, mother,’ he mumbles, before kissing her cheek. ‘See you later.’

He also gets into the view of the camera, so Hux can’t see Leia’s reaction. Perhaps it’s for the best. His knees are already weak, and he needs to get out of the room, stand at attention and wait for the Supreme Leader, now in the middle of the breakdown because mommy doesn’t love him enough to break at his whim.

Good. If, when, Hux’s plans play out and he kills Ren, there’ll be something left for him, the most personal game of them all to win at. And damn, doesn’t he love hurting this woman. He rarely manages and it makes a few successful attempts so much sweeter.

‘Don’t you dare to ask,’ says Ren, after coming out of the interrogation chamber. There’s still blood on his face. ‘I know you watched.’

He stumbles and needs to grab the closing door to steady himself. It shrieks in protest. The practical part of Hux’s soul shrieks, too, imagining the damage to the hydraulics system. The rest of him is delighted at the display, and he doesn't hide it well enough, apparently. Ren’s face twists in anger.

‘Go take care of her,’ he barks.

Hux doubts he means execution, but he asks anyway, only to irk Ren more–

The Force throws him at the wall. For a second, he thinks he might throw his spine and stomach out—then he realises it’s impossible—and then there’s this unmistakable hold on his throat. Not tight enough to completely cut off the air, but painful.

‘How dare you,’ hisses Ren, ‘when she’s your Supreme Leader’s mother, Vader’s daughter, the Senator of the Imperial Senate, the member of the royalty… And you, you’re just—a clever rat. If I allow your— ’ It looks like Ren himself chokes on the next word like it’s too big for his mouth, but Hux can guess. Fucking. Bilateral rape. His ship and soldiers, her means of blackmail, for he said a word or three too much, his cock in her cunt, her fingers in his hair forcing his face down, between her hips. ‘ —it’s only because I’m sure she prefers you. She’d love to get a clean, silent one, lacking any personality, perfectly mouldable, not—‘ This time, Ren catches himself. Too late, of course, and they both know it. He might just as well scream this “not me” and be done with it.

Ren takes out his mistake on Hux, closing his fist and fully choking him. He’s able to stand steadily now, finding strength in his anger. His shivers seem less feverish and more furious. He comes closer, leans in, kisses Hux’s breathless mouth.

Lets him go a moment later, leaving him coughing and still so damn hard. Hux feels the smudge of Ren’s blood in the corner of his lips. He tries to lick it with his tongue, instinctively, but Ren’s fingers catch his face, driving into the hollow of his cheeks painfully.

‘So go,’ whispers Ren, now low, calm and cold, and Hux’s cock twitches again, ‘and lick her wounds, lick her clean, like a good dog.’

The interrogation room is already empty, the princess on a simple durasteel bed in the next room, the one designed to provide some rest and medical attention to prisoners. It always reminds Hux of the hospital ward: bowls, droids, shelves full of the equipment, no sharp edges or anything which could be changed into a rope, the smell of medicine tingling one’s nose. Sheets are hospital-like, too, grey and thick—far from the most comfortable, but good for liquid’s absorption and easily washable.

Half a dozen droids are attending to Leia’s naked body, shivering wildly under a heating blanket.

Cleaning her. Damn. Hux is late.

Leia opens her eyes and grimaces.

‘Get out,’ her voice is hoarse, but she manages the perfect “inconvenient lady” intonation. Even waves her hand at him, like he really was one of her lackeys, interrupting her in a dressing room.

Perhaps this is the reason she’s able to preserve calm and dignity throughout the First Order’s ordeals so easily. Servants must have accompanied her in the most intimate moments since her birthday. It’s the explanation Hux favours; it makes her defiance something to despise, not admire.

‘I’d love to, but I’ve got orders from the Supreme Leader.’ Hux crouches next to her bed. Checks the droids’ readings. No permanent physical or neural damage done. Excellent. ‘You know how he is when he doesn’t get what he wants.’

She breathes deeply—tries to, halts the movement in a middle, then continues. The scans claim her ribs aren’t broken, so it can be either throat, damaged by the screaming, or some twisted, sprained muscles, or a cut from the interrogation droid in the messy place. Or one of the unpredictable problems caused by electrocution.

He orders droids to check Leia’s heart. Ren would kill him if his mother died from a chancy, post-torture heart-stroke—especially as the effect of Ren’s own actions.

‘Don’t bother,’ she says through clenched teeth. ‘I’m not—I’m all right. I survived it before. I know my reactions. I’m not dying. The Force would tell me if I was.’

‘You trust the Force too much. It seems to favour our side, now.’ He caresses her temple with his thumb, combs his fingers through her hair.

It’s tangled and sweaty, but has his gloves on—and even now he’s marvelled by Leia’s hair length and volume. The Order’s military regulations forbid anyone to keep hair longer than the shoulders’ level and while some officers, following one of Sloane’s worse habits, disregard the rule, none of them is foolish enough to spend time and resources on maintaining the hair almost waist-long. It’s such a spoiled, wasteful idea, considering how precious water and shampoos are. Typical for the Core and its elites. And yet—so ridiculously pretty. Something straight from the holonet stories and old fairy-tales.

His lessons, to be fair to them, included aesthetics in the description of corrupted elites’ lifestyle. Wasteful, impractical, not giving a damn about other people or consequences—but beautiful, oh so beautiful.

Leia told him he destroyed a lot of very beautiful places, blowing Hosnian system up. Hux believed her, but cut short any attempts at rambling about the details: places, works of art, buildings. He already knew everything that mattered, he said—although some childish part of him felt curious; he’d never set his foot in the Core—they’d hosted the government of the illegal regime.

The princess looked offended and disappointed, almost sad, and Hux thought she might be falling into the pit of Corellian Syndrome, and then got terrified he might be falling into its captor’s counterpart.

A good reason to stop petting her hair now. Except Leia doesn’t like it, so this pleasure would be easily explainable, if security bureau got the access to the records from the rooms’ cameras—and for this miracle, they’d need to dispose of the Supreme Leader first. Ren isn’t keen at letting the First Order’s people see anything related to his mother. He probably thinks he and she are above them all, thanks to the Force and Core’s upbringing. Infuriating, but useful, occasionally.

Feeling generous and cruel at once—Skywalker family does it to him—Hux takes his gloves off and caresses Leia’s neck. She tries to pull away, but there’s a wall behind her back. The droids beep unhappily.

‘Don’t touch me.’

‘The orders were to lick your wounds clean, Princess. It’s hard to—‘ he stops, thrilled by the flicker of pain on her face; oh, didn’t expect her son to order this? ‘What, the Force didn’t tell you?’

Which reminds him—Ren likes watching them, sure, but today, in this unhinged state, he most certainly won’t be able to, which means Hux may use the abundance of the droids and run some Force-expression related scans on Leia. She did suffer and must have used the Force to defend herself from her son, even if unconsciously, and even though a good dozen of minutes passed, there still might be some traces of the activity left…

She laughs when he gives the commands to the droids.

‘Still chasing the wind? The Force is not yours to control. It’s no one’s—’

‘No matter how much one deifies the wind, the windmills work.’ The results will be sent to his datapad and deleted from the records; it wouldn’t do for Ren to realise his general is playing with his metaphysical beliefs. ‘I already made some progress. The transplantation of the bacterial microflora to some smaller mammals returned very promising results at this early stage.’

Leia shudders. Hux is still not good enough at reading her emotions to tell why exactly. Fear, hatred, disgust… Either way, taking her ankle in his hand, caressing the sole of her foot, searching for the burn from the electrocution and kissing it—he has his orders to carry—makes her shivers more violent, makes her close her face not to show pain or pleasure. Good.

‘Just out of curiosity,’ Hux murmurs, still tracing the lines of her sole with his fingers, massaging her ankle, ‘how does it feel to be interrogated and tortured by your father _and_ your son? It’s a pretty rare occurrence.’

She tries to kick him. She doesn’t have much strength left, but he appreciates the gesture.

‘Vader was never my father.’

‘Ah. And Ren isn’t—has never been your son? Convenient philosophy.’

No answer. Hux allows her this little escape, focuses on kissing his way up her leg, putting it over his shoulder for easier access.

Save for goosebumps, her skin is smoother than ever—shaving is a standard procedure for scheduled interrogations—and it’s a nice feeling. Partly because it’s artificial and spotless like sleek lines of his destroyers, like decks of his ships, glimmering in the dark. Partly because the smoothness is forced, the prelude to torture, making Leia just another cog in the well-running machine—the cog to be bent and broken at the whim of Supreme Leader. All sharp edges blunted for the convenience and safety of her dear son. Brat likes his toys like this.

Hux runs his hands along her leg, from foot almost to thigh, rubs and pinches it a few times, like to warm her. There are only some bruises and slashes here. The next big injection mark and burn is on the thigh level—plus the wound on the knee, from bindings.

‘My father sent me to torture, too. It was a part of the training. Nothing personal. But he was the one supervising the sessions. Didn’t show any leniency towards his useless weakling of a son, of course. Told them to treat me harsher. Give me a better lesson.’

‘Do you want to compare the experiences? Make a spreadsheet?’ Leia sounds bitter and exhausted, but also a little amused, and the last part is exactly what Hux likes in her. If “likes” is the right word. He doesn’t have much experience with positive attachments.

So, yes, let’s make a spreadsheet. He plans to use Leia and every key to the power of the Force—whatever physical force hides behind the veil of this damn mysticism—her body can give him, so he can’t plan killing her, which while not a total novelty in his life, is still the most unusual situation. He hasn’t even _imagined_ her death in weeks, that fantasy replaced by others. Of having her imprisoned or staying with him, hurt and soothed, tortured and pampered, finally broken, finally convinced, shivering from fear and pain, shivering from pleasure; of making her his public concubine, so everybody sees how little he cares about the royal blood, of making her his wife, to brute-force his way into the royal blood; of her coming apart, coming apart, coming _apart_—under his touch, under his words, under his medical droids, even under torture, as long as it’s on his, not Ren’s command…

Let’s try now. His kisses have come to the inner side of her knee, not only bruised and scratched but torn to raw meat by bindings. Perfect.

Hux licks the bruised and scratched area around the wound. Keeps going, slowly, the circles smaller and smaller—Leia shivers, her other leg digs into the bed, and, knowing she’s bracing herself, he slows down some more—until his tongue darts at the edge of the injury. He stops for a moment. Imagines how his breath feels on the wound. Blows a little air on it, a half-laugh, half-caress, and enjoys the way Leia’s leg on his arm twitches.

‘I know, I know,’ he says, softly, even though he isn’t entirely sure what he means, except that he’s quite hard, still, despite not touching his cock, despite the time that has passed since her torture. ‘Me, too.’

He leans in and sucks on the wound. Tastes not only her blood but the underside of Leia’s skin, a part of the inner mechanics of her body, full of this damn Force. Slides his tongue over the slick meat, tasting of salt and copper, and underneath the torn skin at the edges. Lifts and tears it, with this tongue and teeth, widening the wound a little. There’s this stupid, hot idea of really biting down, eating a part of her flesh. To cannibalise this sacred, godlike Vader’s line, this damn strong-in-the-Force, vacuum-surviving and hell knows what other physical laws breaking body.

No, he’s not superstitious enough to believe eating your enemies grant you their strength. It’s just the sacrilege, the transgression against the current and previous Supreme Leaders and his own damn father, so enamoured with Anakin Skywalker and the Jedi, and image of Leia’s finally _human_ pain and humiliation—it’s just all of these and more, which makes this idiotic fantasy so compelling. He might include this in his night repertoire.

Medical droids whirl in discontent even at what he’s doing in reality. Hux ignores them—if they’re so _concerned_, they should beep at the Supreme Leader—and moves his free hand up Leia’s tight, petting the injection’s mark and burns on his way, briefly, except for the one in her groin. It’s probably only his imagination, but they still feel hot.

He pulls the blanket further up, to take a look at her vulva—and of course, Ren didn’t bother or didn’t care enough to check the droids’ parameters and the default ones absolutely don’t exclude genitals from their tender care. Which means Leia is freshly shaved there, too—pure pragmatics, yet Hux’s mouth runs dry; he realises he can, the next time, volunteer to supervise all the pre-interrogations procedures, shaving, enema, cleaning, and damn, biology is very _not_ pragmatic to allow him to be so hard at the mere thought—and her labia are reddened. Knowing the droids’ programming, so is her vagina. Probably worse, torture droids focus on penetration. Vaginal one, in case of the women, at least at the beginning, and droids’ medical report doesn’t say a word about anal damage.

It also claims Leia’s vulva and vagina don’t need chirurgical intervention or a tank, just a few drops of bacta applied on the injuries directly. So, Ren destroyed the interrogation droids before they started the riskiest programs. Excellent. Good boy.

Hux, grinning a little, kisses the inside of Leia’s knee again, this time above the wound and bruises, gently, but pressing hard at the clit and her vaginal entrance with his fingers.

She gasps and makes an aborted motion to bring her legs together. Hux doesn’t push further, just keeps making circles with his fingers, taunting both the labia’s and entrance’s sore skin, and massaging her clit, hard enough it might be unpleasant even without the injuries.

‘It was during my torture resistance training sessions that I swore I’d kill him. My father. Was it the same for you?’ He nestles his nose in her ankle, enjoying the hardness of the bone. He smells her sweat, licks and kisses it away, and it’s so hot, he considers coming back to caressing her foot. But wounds are always better. If this one was deeper, he might put his fingers or penis into it—but one should always keep some surprises for the next time. Today, his tongue is plenty. ‘Were you disappointed when Vader escaped your wrath?’

‘I vowed to kill him long before,’ she hisses. ‘But when he died, _redeemed_, I had better things to do than thinking about him. Celebrating and capitalising our victory.’

‘A short-lived one.’ He has so much of Leia blood on his lips they feel sticky.

‘We will see.’ There’s certainty in her voice which kills Hux’s laughter.

He shrugs mentally and continues to make a map of Leia’s injured body, compare it to the one already in his memory. The burns on her vulva are slick like fresh, raw meat, the small cuts are to the contrary, harsher. And there’s this specific wetness, proving that princess—or her body—enjoys some of this, too. Hux isn’t sure he minds, not anymore, not completely, not when it’s her.

‘And what have you promised to do to your son? And when?’ He rubs at her vaginal entrance, threatening, promising to push in. ‘During your recent charming chat or long before?’

Now, there’s a reaction: something between a shudder and a tensed stillness, her muscles controlled and tied into knots proper like these complicated braids of hers. He feels her entrance tensing, too.

He pushes in, enjoying the fleeting moment of resistance before Leia remembers to relax. Not that it matters—droids apparently acted according to the program, so her vagina is sore. Burned, only a little, thanks to Ren and his short-temper. Still, Hux enjoys the feeling and imagines the discomfort caused by every little movement of his fingers. She loosens her muscles up, trying to accommodate him. Considering the circumstances, she’s doing pretty well—all these hours spent on meditation profit!—and after the first moment, Hux needs to flex and scissor his fingers to feel a decent resistance. After a few seconds more, he decides to bring a third and fourth to keep things interest—

Leia tries to kick him, the move unexpected enough he loses his balance—and fuck, perhaps scratches her inside, fuck, this is—he’s going to end fully hard again—and need to grab her legs to stop her from hitting his teeth.

Droids beep around them, distressed.

‘Don’t,’ announces Leia royally. ‘I’m not in the mood.’

‘And what will you do if I don’t listen?’

‘Tell your soldiers—scream in public, if I have to—you raped me. My son might not care, but the damage to his image would force him to take some action. And I’m sure older officers would demand some punishment for your misconduct.’ She laughs. ‘Jealousy is a powerful motivator.’

That’s irritatingly true. Especially the jealousy part. Pryde, for example, was always full of suspicious fervour during his Academy’s speeches about this filthy Rebel princess. And he made a copy of the holo with almost naked Leia strangling Jabba the Hutt.

If Pryde got to know the brat half his age was fucking the woman he obviously dreamt of raping himself—ouch. Hux would have to listen to tirades about his father. Other things might be objectively worse, but this one would last.

‘You’re too proud for it. And do you really want to trade me for an old Imperial like Pryde?’

‘If he allowed me to watch your punishment, I’d even call him my hero. Pryde’s the one with a swagger stick, right? Perhaps dreams about spanking you, nice and hard. Perhaps he’d be willing to let me avenge my honour myself, as long as he’d watch, too.’

Leia’s tone’s dry and official, and Hux says “Fine, no fingers, but I still have my orders, Princess,” just after “I can borrow his stick, but I’m not sure you’ll like its other uses,” because damn, she deserves some reward for making dirty talk sound all dignified and aloof.

Impressive. Amusing. So Hux leans in, stopping himself a breath or so from her vulva. He grins and lets out a long breath, let it caress her broken skin.

She sighs, deeply, and opens her leg a little wider. He blows some air again, makes circles with his breath and Leia, so brave and cold moments before, now makes a noise in the back of her throat.

There’s a power in ceasing suffering; Hux didn’t quite appreciate it before Leia and her high pain resistance. He supposes he should be grateful for a lesson, so he keeps the air flowing, enjoys the way Leia’s muscles relax slowly.

Not completely. She knows him well enough to still expect pain. A pity. Surprises work better.

But when it comes to technical details, he can always improvise.

‘I know I’ve said “no fingers”, but…‘

He kisses her clit, briefly, gestures at droid and drowns his fingers in bacta before going back to caressing her—clit, labia, pushing inside, almost blindly, because her eyes widen and her teeth tatter at her lower lip to stop a whimper, and he can’t take his eyes off of her face. Shivering and tightening of her muscles, he feels underneath his fingertips.

Fuck. He’ll have to repeat it one day. With Ren’s temper and Leia’s persistence, some occasion will surely arise—and if not, he’s going to make one, later, when he’ll dispose of the Supreme Leader.

It must be nice or at least interesting: the pain present, but slowly fading away under the tingling feeling of bacta, mixed with the pleasure of the touch. He’ll have to check it on himself: a good, hard handjob—or just taking some younger officer from behind, imagining it’s the Supreme Bastard—while the medicine will work its way through his body.

Ren forced him in the middle of the recovery a few times, but it wasn’t simultaneous with the bacta application. Also, Ren wasn’t concerned with his pleasure. Hux isn’t much concerned with Leia’s pleasure either, but he’s nominally caressing her clitoris and labia, and his fingers are moving deep inside her body, curling and uncurling, making small circles to ensure the treating gel will get everywhere (oh, and to watch her squirm and shake, to know not-yet-Ren stretched the very same walls on the billionth times damned days of his birth…), and with his hands dripping with bacta, it might not even hurt her anymore, not much—this is suboptimal, but with Leia, he’s going to take every visible reaction as a victory.

Ha, and she’s—_high_—reacting now, her inhibitions lowered by mildly narcotic and very analgesic properties of the gel, hitting faster and stronger than usual through the vaginal canal. She’s shivering, biting her lips, her pupils blown wide. Her legs jerk once or twice, strong enough to agitate her wounds, much to droids’ dismay. Hux, to placate them, stops playing with her clit—it’s soaked and healing already, the redness changing to less disturbing tones—and focus on the other injuries.

All of them. The one on her thigh, along the lines of her veins, pink, raw meat on the underside of her knees and arms, and wrists—he leans in and kisses them, before and after a short session of licking and sucking—the scratches and burns on her abdomen and ribs, the bruises on her throat, feet, ankles. At some point he stops checking if there’s a visible damage in the place he wants to—she’s his, not Ren’s now, and unlike _Ben_, Hux knows how to _move_ her—touch. After all, Force-interrogation leaves a lot of invisible marks, makes the pain engulf you whole, he knows it too well.

Leia must want the relief, because she helps him in application, moves and bends a little to allow him better access to her back and the rest of her body, now, thanks to bacta, no longer caring about bruised ribs, torn skin or pain. Hux is pretty sure she’s also using this as a cover to, ah, pardon his Huttese, fucks herself on his fingers. Make the angle nicer for herself, thrust the pelvis to shove them deeper, get some friction, rub her clit and labia against his wrist.

Hux smirks. ‘I’m doing this only to spite your son’s orders. I can’t lick out the medicine.’

‘For someone who survived so long among the mindreaders,’ she gasps, her knuckles white and yet trembling around the sheet she’s grasping, ‘you’re a bad liar.’

He feels high on triumph almost as much as she must be on bacta. His trousers start to feel uncomfortably tight again, and it’s so damn strange: he’s not even hurting her, save the sweet knowledge she’ll remember this—remember her desperation, her desire, remember she let herself be pleasured by the man she herself had called Tarkin’s copy, by the hands which designed the Starkiller. And this will gnaw at her, he knows, bite and poison her much deeper and stronger than any torture could. So perhaps this is, all plain, simple and ideologically safe, what turns him on.

It’s definitely ideologically safe what makes him disappointed when she—damn, he hasn’t hidden his pleasure well enough—cringes, shoves herself on his palm one more time, and _freezes_. Such a display of self-control. Hux hates Ren’s rapes as well, but so close to climax—when Ren wants him to come or doesn’t bother enough to forbid him—he wouldn’t be able to stop himself.

Leia takes a few deep breaths, but her voice still sounds like she was lacking air when she barks:

‘I think the medical procedure is finished.’ She kicks him, lightly. ‘And we have a deal.’

A shame, but Hux isn’t going to risk his career and reputation… Nor would he be happy to see her in Pryde’s arms or with squirming on Pryde’s prick, stick or whatever.

The last thought surprises him. Ren’s possessiveness must be infectious.

‘Of course.’ He withdraws his hand, lifts them into air in a parody of defeat, let her see her own juice on his finger. Droids reach to him with antiseptic tissues and are, again, ignored. ‘A pity. I’d allow you to come, Princess. How many times you’d want. No ruining the orgasm, no pain, just pleasure.’

‘How generous of you.’ He bets she doesn’t believe him, but there’s a something, which he opts to call regret, passing through her face.

‘You had a hell of a day.’

Leia’s laughter is long, bitter and wild.

‘You pity me,’ she whispers. ‘You think you may allow me anything—you little, pompous, arrogant snake. I feel every damn thought, every damn emotion in your twisted, pathetic mind—I felt how turned on you were today, all I needed was…’ She shakes her head. ‘You think I care about the silly games between you and my son, even if you use my body to score points?’

‘I fail to see what else is left for you to care about.’

‘A great many things above your paygrade.’

Her smirk is infuriating—and confident enough it gives him pause. They haven’t heard about The Resistance in a long time. Not in the context of any real threat; only small actions, mostly done by children and teenagers: publishing pamphlets, plastering the walls with propaganda posters, shouting anti-Order slogans on the public events. They were dealt with, but they weren’t important. Leia can’t be thinking about them—and so, perhaps, it was all a trap, calm before the storm, perhaps the bandits were in the middle of preparing something huge…

Or Leia’s meaning some mystical nonsense. Or she’s just messing with him.

‘But it’s so nice of you to think a Rebel scum like me deserves some pleasure. I accept.’ She sends him a smile, looking more like a grimace and spreads her legs again. ‘Your Supreme Leader told you to lick. Then lick.’

Hux’s brows knit. He licks his fingers, sticky from the gel and her sweat and fluids, obscenely slowly, to get time. She can’t want the bacta gone. The healing isn’t finished yet.

It takes him embarrassingly long—plus the look of pure condensation on her face, plus the suggestive sway of her hips—to get it.

‘I had no idea you like…’ he trails off. His face feels hot.

Absurd. He was forced to lick Ren’s arsehole dozens times already, and the great Supreme Leader wasn’t thoroughly cleaned by the med-droids before. Leia's anus wasn’t hurt—another thing left for Hux and _his_ future interrogations (or games and threats in a bed; he can be nice, just for her)—and Hux hasn’t needed to apply the bacta gel there. No technical problems. It’s just…

‘What I _like_ is the idea of controlling how you bring me to—oh, I mean: how you kindly allow me to come.’

Ren gave him orders and Leia already turned his words against him, so Hux forces himself to smile, just to take away a part of her satisfaction, and lifts her hips, putting her legs on his shoulders.

Leia kicks his back. Bacta had to restore quite a part of her strength already because the kick is almost painful.

‘On your knees.' Her smile is bright like a supernova, her condescension just as burning. 'General.’

She manages to sit—half-sit—spreading her legs widely, propping her feet at the bed’s edge. Droids dutifully inform them it’s a suboptimal healing position. Hux smiles thinly; all fours isn’t exactly comfortable position either, as he unsurprisingly discovers when he takes it, but if Leia’s close—and he’s willing to bet she is—things should be quick.

Then Leia places one foot on his back and digs her heel just below his neck.

He almost gaggles on indignation. His breath makes her entrance’s muscles constrict, and she lets away a deep, pleasured purr, but it’s hardly a consolation when one’s put under the heel of one’s own prisoner.

Leia moves her feet a little, down and up his spine, curling and uncurling fingers, making the show of nesting herself, and keeping the pressure exactly on this irritating pain-pleasure border. Hux’s feels his face reddening. Damn genetics and blood vessels.

‘It’s so nice of you to wait for my comma—for me, but I’m comfortable enough,’ she announces. ‘Go on.’

Hux doesn’t want to look her in the face, so he—pitying her, he tells himself—does as suggested. Bacta and previous cleaning make even her anus taste like the damn pharmacy or a medical wing, and this startles Hux for a moment, but also makes things easier. Less intimate, more routine. He’s a great deal of experience in both medical wings and self-treatment.

Ren ordered him to lick, so he tentatively licks the cleft of Leia’s arse, and then her hole. She seems to like it enough not to kick him again, so he continues, mixing licks with half-kisses, trying not to think how much of her pleasure comes not from his attempts, but the sight of him on his knees, under her foot, face buried in her and wet from the fluids.

Ren ordered him to lick. Hux focuses on this, treats it like an engineering assignment and things start to go smoothly. Leia shudders when his tongue pushes in and Hux twirls it experimentally. Repeats a few times, trying to curl it differently with every move. Thinks about objects and physics.

He’s startled when he feels Leia’s hand touching his hair. If she calls him a good boy, Hux thinks viciously, he’s going to show her how foolish it is to mock someone whose teeth are close to your femoral artery.

She doesn’t. She just combs through his hair and caresses his ears and neck, the motions of her fingers mirroring these of his tongue.

He manages to push it a little deeper, twirling the tip of it, and her fingers clench into a fist. She doesn’t yank his head, it’s just her grasp’s becoming tighter and tighter, more and more painful—good, it’s not like Hux needs to be petted, ridiculous idea—until her whole body gets still and tensed, hard like durasteel, her anus constrict around Hux’s tongue—there's a flash of completely idiotic fear of suffocating—and then, almost immediately, she’s relaxed completely. Her body becomes like water. No pressure, no resistance.

She’s come. She’d never allow herself to show him more, not even with so much bacta in her bloodstream. Perhaps exactly because of the bacta in her bloodstream, helping her to regain strength and self-restraint.

The thought stinks. Hux grimaces and rises up abruptly. Leia barely manages to avoid hitting the bed. Yet her gaze is full of royal grace, when she scans him, now very picture of brave lady, bearing small indignities like too salty dish or a torture with a polite smile.

‘Poor general. Your strategy included heroic self-sacrifice? Don’t worry, the droids can help you.’ Her eyes very pointedly evade his crotch area.

Hux’s in the middle of washing his teeth—with a little help of the droids, indeed, holding disinfecting liquid for him—so he just shrugs. Pretty honestly, even. It’s his pride which hurts, not his cock. His father’s hatred, Snoke’s disdain, finally Ren’s temper, taste for violence and, ah, fondness for his general have made Hux accustomed to the longing for fulfilment, _any_ fulfilment, and never reaching it.

He’s already spent too much time enjoying her and himself. While he doesn’t doubt Ren’ll kill him if he leaves his mother before escorting her to the cell, he has work to do as well. He might opt to sit with a datapad in the torture chair, irony be damned. Leia feels better, but the droids and common sense should stop her from leaving the… guests’… room, so he should be safe from her commentary. Or her kinky ideas. That’s it: her torture ideas, fantasies of what she'll do, once her band of ragtag fighters manage to win and throw a certain general at her feet.

The second version might be even more suspicious, ideologically. Hux curses and spits into the bowl. His saliva is pinkish from blood.

‘Such a vulgar subject, Your Highness?’ He blurts, just not to let Leia ask. ‘Is it the influence of your criminal husband showing?’

It took him weeks to start noticing the way her face stills into a neutral mask at every mention of Solo.

‘Actually,’ she manages to make her voice light, 'he was a general when I married him.’

Hux feels his lips stretching into a small, instinctive smile. He might not get the ejaculation, but a satisfaction—surely.

‘Oh, _this_ is the requirement? Excellent.’ And his next words, he realises, are no longer a fantasy, but the plan and the promise, like that one about his father during a different torture session, all these years ago, ‘When _the circumstances _change, I’m going to make you my wife.'

**Author's Note:**

> **Warnings:**  
\- rape (funny, I think we may say that ultimately we have three-sides rapes at least mentioned - Ren rapes Hux, Hux rapes Leia, but she manages to force him to pleasure... do what she wants in the end, too :D),  
\- torture and torture porn,  
\- hm... torture healing, healing being used to rape,  
\- Ren's a terrible human being,  
\- and doesn't mind torturing his own mother (author's dead etc., but I'd say he minds, technically, he just thinks he should conquer his love to reach his potential etc.),  
\- Hux's a terrible human being, too,  
\- genital's damage (vulva, vagina etc. - Leia's, because Ren is above checking own his torture droids),  
\- black humour,  
\- disregard of civilian casualties,  
\- fantastical, unrealistic healing (pain resistance probably, too), very convenient for my id,  
\- it's all torture porn PWP written for my id, it didn't even stand near "realistic" or "plausible",  
\- non-con: fingering, anal, licking, kissing,  
\- mentions of cannibalistic fantasies  
\- a lot of, in the context very unhealthy, sexual fantasies appear - object insertion, spanking, rapes,  
\- mentions of patricide, filicide and past torture of children,  
\- mindgames,  
\- mentions of forced marriages,  
\- voyeurism, in a way  
\- wound... not fucking, sadly, but kissing, licking, playing with (which might count as blood drinking, in a way?); fucking is mentioned,  
\- non-consensual human experimentation is mentioned, too (also, experiments on other mammals - only mentioned),  
\- possessiveness,  
\- slandering general Pryde's good name,  
\- victim/Leia manages to turn the tables, if only partly,  
\- swear words ;),  
\- narrator is pretty unreliable,  
\- if I forgot something very obvious, tell me,
> 
> \- deus ex machina,  
\- too long sentences. ;)  

> 
> **Author's rambling: **
> 
>   
N. and S. had done a lot to help me (thank you!), but then I broke it into pieces again and keep changing things almost at 11th hour - and then rl struck and oops! The mess is not their fault, it's on me. But I'm 100% sure it's iddy mess, at least. ;)


End file.
